Aug 7, 2008 | From My Journal
There should be a warning sticker on the RockBand game box.
It should state: Persons 35 and older should play with caution. Play may result in addictive, grand delusions of rock god-ery, which may be harmful to your health.
That being said, I woke up yesterday morning with a hangover. My eyes felt like gravel had been pounded into them, my head wanted to split open and scream, and my muscles had the sharp tingly sensation of a thousand Ginsu knives being stabbed into them.
That was just the agony I felt when rolling over to look at the alarm clock.
Getting out of bed was an entirely different horror.
Mind you this wasn’t an alcohol hangover. There was nary a blended margarita, Jello shot or Guinness served the night before. My entire evening was comprised solely of playing guitar.
Well, not a real guitar. … A Wii guitar-controller. That’s right. My agony was directly contributed to a night of playing RockBand. Yes, I know. It wasn’t enough that I was addicted to Guitar Hero III. I had to pull the entire family into my madness. But, it’s my job as a mom to make sure we’re participating in family activities. Right?
Well, it would be if my husband or I actually let one of the kids play. Instead we created our own band. And we rocked it. All. Night. Long. He sang (but don’t tell anyone, he gets embarrassed) and I played the guitar (naturally). The crowd roared when we hit our notes in unison. They loved us so much the meter bar sparkled.
With that kind of love and energy, who could stop?
My one weak moment was during the Ramones song ‘Blitzkrieg Bop.’ The notes were flying by fast. Unfortunately, I was hitting only every third note. My strum thumb just couldn’t keep up. So instead I held the switch between the top knuckles of my index and middle finger.
Now I was thrashin’!
However, towards the middle of the song, I felt a burning sensation. I ignored it. The pain increased after each note. Finally, towards the end of the song, I quickly glanced at my husband and said, “Hey, I think I hurt my fingers.”
“I might have skinned a knuckle.” I didn’t have time between the notes to actually look. I’d hoped he would suggest we’d put the game on pause.
Instead he said, “Stevie Ray Vaughn used to superglue his skin back on. Get over it.”
What?!?! No sympathy, no ‘oh we better stop and take a look, you poor baby?’
Of course not: This was the price of being a rock star.
If Stevie could do it … so could I. We played on.
At around midnight, after my hand was cramped and beyond feeling, Jimmy remembered we had work the next day and put the game to an end.I begged for more, weakly. I could barely keep my eyes open, and stumbled around more than walked.
“Nope, we’re done.” He blinded me by turning on the living room light. “We’ll play again tomorrow night.”
I set down my guitar and squinted to look at my hand. Patches of skin on two fingers, above and below the top knuckles, had been scraped off. There wasn’t any anything to ‘glue’ back on. I waved my bloody stumps at my husband . He grunted and headed to bed.
I followed, or rather, stumbled. You’d think I learned my lesson. I’d have some sort of epiphany and either quit the band or learn to play responsibly. That is not to be.
All I can think about today is RockBand. I should be working, but I daydream about playing. I’ve texted thrice already, confirming our plans for a repeat performance tonight. Not only that, I have contacted my friends about a party for Saturday night. I bribed them with pizza and spirits.
All I have to say is that in about six hours, World, you better stand back:
This mother is about to rock!
(This time with Band-Aids. Oh, and yes, we’ll actually include the kids too.)